Chapter 12
Katerina
The door is locked, deadbolted and latched. The curtains are drawn. For the first time in days, I don’t feel watched. I stand in the middle of the suite and simply … stop. The quiet is almost overwhelming.
Sheer fabric drapes from the posts of the absurdly large bed. It’s like something out of a movie. A bottle of champagne waits in a silver ice bucket. Rose petals scatter across the duvet in deliberate romance. It feels unreal.
My throat tightens, but not from smoke this time. It’s my knowledge this is temporary. The danger isn’t gone. But the immediate threat is over. The transaction is burned and unrecoverable. And I am still here … because of Hawk.
My vision blurs unexpectedly. I blink once. Twice. It doesn’t stop. I press my fingers beneath my eyes as if I can force it back into place.
Weakness. I hate weakness. A hand settles gently at my waist.
“Come closer,” Hawk says, his voice low.
I shake my head once, embarrassed by the sudden emotion in my eyes.
“I’m fine.”
Hawk doesn’t argue. He just moves closer.
Arms come around me — not tight or trapping.
He feels so solid and warm. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until my forehead rests against his chest. I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped there for years.
No words, nothing is said. He just holds me.
“Let it out,” he murmurs.
His words free me more than anything else. It isn’t sobbing — only tears slipping away, unguarded.
Hawk reaches for a tissue from the side table and, without hesitation, lifts it to my face. He wipes beneath my eyes carefully, like I’m something fragile he doesn’t want to damage.
No one has done that for me, not without agenda or ownership attached. My eyes lift to his. He studies me like I’m not a liability or an asset. Just me.
Hawk leans in and kisses me softly. It’s not a deep, consuming kiss. Just a brush of his mouth against mine like a promise. He rests his forehead against mine afterward.
“It’s been a long road,” he whispers. “You don’t have to carry it alone right now.”
He doesn’t know the half of it. And yet he understands enough.
I breathe in slowly. The scent of him is a unique blend of smoke, clean cotton, and something distinctly masculine.
It could lie in it … like lying in a field of grasses and wildflowers.
It grounds me. After a moment, he steps back slightly.
“There’s champagne,” he says. “Might as well make the most of the accommodations.”
A faint laugh escapes me. The absurdity of it all — corporate sabotage and the honeymoon suite. The irony almost feels poetic.
He crosses to the table and lifts the bottle from the ice. The pop of the cork is sharp and celebratory. He pours two glasses and hands one to me. The bubbles rise fast and bright.
“To survival,” he says.
I tilt my glass toward his and they clink together.
“To choice.”
We drink. The champagne is crisp, cold — almost shocking after everything.
Hawk sets his glass down and begins exploring the room with cautious practicality, checking doors, scanning corners, testing the bathroom entrance as if assessing security.
“Clear,” he mutters.
I follow him into the bathroom. It’s enormous. Marble floors. A freestanding soaking tub. A glass shower large enough for two. Plush white towels folded with decorative precision. Two hotel robes hang on the back of the door — his and hers, embroidered in gold thread.
I reach out and brush my fingers over the soft fabric. It feels so unthreatening and comforting. Hawk steps in behind me.
“This is a nice upgrade from the clothes at the cabin,” he says, laughing lightly.
“Yes,” I agree.
There’s something surreal about standing in a honeymoon suite with a man who just walked through smoke to get me out alive. For now, no one is hunting us. For now, the suite belongs to us.
I notice I’m not performing as Katerina right now. I am simply here … with Hawk.
The champagne goes down easier the second time. Hawk leans back slightly against the edge of the writing desk, glass in hand, studying me the way he does when he’s assessing a perimeter. Only this time, I’m the perimeter.
“I’ve done extractions before,” he says quietly.
His tone shifts into something more personal, even though it’s work related.
“But nothing like tonight,” he adds.
I watch him over the rim of my glass.
“What was different?”
“You.” He doesn’t smile when he says it. “This wasn’t just about keeping you breathing,” he continues. “I knew that halfway through the first flight we took.”
I don’t interrupt.
“When I left the military,” he says, “I told myself I was done with gray missions. Done with the kind of work where you don’t get the full picture and you’re expected not to ask for it.”
He takes a slow breath.
“I’ve watched good people get burned because they trusted the wrong intel. Or the wrong chain of command.”
His eyes meet mine directly.
“I won’t let that happen on my watch again.”
“You don’t even know what you stepped into,” I say softly.
“No,” he agrees. “So tell me.”
“I wasn’t recruited,” I say. “I was cultivated.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“From a young age?”
“Yes.”
I set my glass down.
“If a man needed something — information, influence, leverage — I was positioned to obtain it.”
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
“I was good at it,” I continue evenly. “Good enough that I became valuable.”
“And when you’re valuable,” he says quietly, “you get owned.”
“Yes.”
Owned -- the word tastes bitter.
“I escaped. It was nearly impossible to accomplish, moving through various countries until I sought refuge at a U.S. Embassy. Russia was never going to let me retire. The United States offered a deal.”
He doesn’t move.
“What kind of deal?”
“One final operation. Cooperation in exchange for severed ties.”
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“The diamonds?”
“Yes.”
“Were there processors embedded in certification hardware?”
“Yes.”
He absorbs things quickly.
“They were going to use distributed modeling systems through legitimate supply chains.”
“Yes.”
“To destabilize financial forecasting? Infrastructure analysis?”
“Yes … and more.”
Each answer strips another layer away.
“And if you had cleared it cleanly?” he asks.
“I probably would have disappeared,” I reply. “Quietly. Permanently.”
His expression shifts.
“Because you’d know too much.”
“Yes. They would have taken me back to Russia or some other country where they would continue to use me.”
“And now?”
“Now I am a liability to very powerful people.”
The word hangs between us. Liability. Hawk steps closer. Close enough that I feel his warmth again, but he doesn’t touch me.
“You didn’t hesitate upstairs,” he says.
“I did,” I correct softly. “Just not long.”
His voice lowers.
“Why?”
I hold his gaze. This is the moment. I can still choose to deflect. Telling him means there is no more distance.
“Because if I cleared it,” I say quietly, “I would have been free.”
He doesn’t look away.
“And I didn’t want that freedom if it meant becoming what they expected me to be.”
His voice is steady.
“And what did they expect?”
“That I would always choose survival over integrity.”
Silence settles around us.
“And tonight?” he asks.
“I chose something else.”
His eyes search mine.
“For the mission?” he asks.
“For myself,” I say. And then, because truth demands completion it, “For you.”
The admission feels like stepping off an edge. Hawk closes the space between us.
“You didn’t drag me into this,” he says quietly. “I stepped in.”
“I know you did, Hawk.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“I know.”
His hand lifts slowly to my waist.
“I needed to understand,” he says.
“Now you do.”
“Yes, you saved our nation … probably the world, Kat. You were beyond brave. You don’t get to disappear,” he says softly.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the one not finished with you.”
We stand there with Cupid City hiding behind heavy curtains and champagne warming our blood. I don’t feel trapped by his statement. I am simply aware of the man in front of me and the next choice I’m making.